I was invited to tag along to Vermont this past week with Joe G. and his neighbor, Bill, whose last name will remain anonymous, per his request. The specifics of the trip were that Joe had secured a condo in East Burke, home to Vermont's Kindom Trails network, and that Bill had volunteered to watch the dogs while we rode.
We departed on Sunday morning from Bethlehem, three hours later than our scheduled 5:00 a.m. departure, as I had spent the previous evening riding about my neighborhood to a couple of parties, and woke at a more reasonable 7:00 a.m., with Joe at the window of my apartment, inquiring gently as to my tardiness.
Spirits were pretty high after a hearty breakfast of nine buttery fried eggs and toast, even with the dismal weather, and we set off for Vermont. I had left all the logistics to my fellow travelers, and we soon found ourselves on the back road alley to Vermont. Literally. More than twelve hours later, we arrived in East Burke, with enough back road scenery to last us a lifetime. Bill had wanted to take the scenic route, which we did.
It had become apparent that Bill had acquiesced to footing the gas bill for the entirity of the trip, as well as the tolls, and the coffee and scones; if available. He was markedly enthusiastic about Starbucks. I felt a mixture of gratitude and shame; Bill is a seventy year old chap, shouldn't he be saving his money for his latter years?
When we arrived in East Burke, the time at which we arrived prevented us from easily obtaining the key to the condo. We were famished, so Joe and I dined in East Burke's Garden Cafe, me on a cheeseburger, he on nachos. At this point we discussed the possibilities for the evening, do we rent a motel? Sleep in the car? Bust in to the condo?
Approximately 3/4 way through the dinner, Bill appeared upon the scene, slightly irate. He said that the dogs were very restless, and what happened to the deposit he had made for the condo?
Suddenly, our dog sitter's role and my guilt associated with it became apparent: he was paying for our vacation, ALL of it.
To understand the complexity of the situation, you would have to know Bill. He is widely known as a semi professional dumpster diver extroudinaire. In other words, the man has money holed away because he gets literally everything he consumes from a dumpster, or from Lehigh University student's who are ABOUT to dispose of food, clothes, etc.
This man has SKILLS, and skills that are truly valuable, especially in our recession, and now I felt very conflicted about the situation.
Once Bill had calmed down, and Joe G. was obtaining the key to our condo after a lengthy search for the whereabouts of the keyholder, he told me that is was his absolute pleasure to sport the cost of the condo and gas, that otherwise he would be having to take a bus to these parts, without company.
Cut to the chase: Joe and I rode Vermont's Kingdom Trails every day of the week. Bill watched the dogs. There were some minor scuffles about Bill using Joe's cast iron skillet to prepare canned meat, and such, but overall, there was pretty much peace in the kingdom.
Except for one thing; Joe and I both suffered from belly rumblings, gassy intrustions, bowel disturbances. We endlessly theorized: the Vermont cheese? the cheeze-it's from one of Bill's dumpster dives? The well water at the condo??
Upon returning home, home sweet home, I submit the theory that there is no such thing as a free ride.
Our flatulence may have simply been our guilt in our guts. Yet, we enjoyed it as much as we could, belly rumblings and all.
Liz
